The Bleeding of Me

Augustin stood at the entrance of the great mansion. His parents had lived here their entire married lives, his father since his birth. The hall was decorated with photographs and paintings from various stages of time within the mansion. Augustin moved slowly along the corridor looking at the images he had seen a million times as he grew up. 1

He paused before one in particular. This one had always held a certain fascination for him. The image was that of a young child, approximately seven years old. The boy bore an impish smile and seemed to watch you as you watched him. A small gold plaque beneath the photograph bore the inscription Augustin Kavanaugh. 2

Augustin smiled. He had always felt a secret pleasure knowing he shared a name with one who came before him. He had asked his mother about this photo before; she had replied she was uncertain of its origin. His father had told him it was a cousin who had died very young. Augustin touched the image. The face was so much like his own. He had secretly thought of it as his mirror image. After all when he looked in the mirror, he saw the same face. Anyone from outside the family would have sworn they were one in the same. 3

He pulled himself harshly from his thoughts and moved to the dining room. His mother and father would be waiting. They were expecting him and both were firm believers in punctuality. He stood at the doorway, leaning on the frame momentarily before continuing into the room. His mother graced him with a cold stare; he felt his breath sucked from him. Forcing himself to breath again, he moved toward the center of the table. Mother was seated at one end and father at the other. 4

"Augustin, so nice of you to join us." his mother said. Her words were pleasant enough but her tone was mocking and sarcastic. She looked away and impatiently toward the kitchen. As if on cue, a servant began to bring plates of steaming food to the table. Augustin felt an intense sense of pride; his mother had always been able to get exactly what she wanted with just a look. "You were late, Augustin. I heard you arrive. You got caught up in that old photograph again. Didn’t you?" 5

Augustin nodded but did not speak. The one thing he hated about his mother was her ability to berate him. Only she could reduce him to the child he had been. He was now 25 and yet in her presence he was that six year old again. "I do not want you looking at that thing. Do you hear me? If I must I will take it down and burn it." 6

Augustin opened his mouth to defend himself but shut it again as his father emitted a distressed groan. Augustin looked at him, a question on his lips. His father shook his head slightly and waved his hand dismissively. Augustin picked up his fork and began to prod his food. "When is the funeral?" he asked suddenly, hoping to change the subject. 7

"Tomorrow at noon," his mother said her voice even more harsh. "Are you that ready to be rid of your grandfather?" 8

"No mother, but having a corpse in the house isn't exactly my idea of fun either," he shot back, his defenses high once again. He had only come for the funeral. Grandfather had always been kind to him. Though he did not have material goods like his paternal grandfather, he had something else: unconditional love for his grandson. Still, the thought of his cooling corpse in the house gave Augustin the creeps. 9

Augustin shivered involuntarily. He ate slowly, not daring to make another comment on any subject. Obviously, his mother was going to be testy at every turn. While he did not expect her to be jovial in light of her father's death: he did expect at least an attempt at graciousness. 10

He laid the fork beside the plate and drained his wine. "I am going to bed,” he said as he stood. "Have the servant awaken me in time to get dressed." His mother snarled but said nothing. His father shook his head dismissively. 11

Augustin climbed the stairs, despite the miserable dinner his thoughts again wandered to the photograph. His father had explained that this cousin had been born and died in the early forties, yet...there was something there. A thought not quite formed in Augustin's mind plagued him through a long and ultimately restless night. Augustin lay in bed watching the shadows move across the room as dawn filtered her pale light through the window. 12

He got up and went to the window. The family cemetery stood behind the house. He had been there many times but could not recall ever seeing the grave of this other Augustin Kavanaugh. He made a mental note to check it out again after the funeral. He would have every right to be there this time and mother could not refuse him. 13

As he moved to return to the bed, he noticed something behind the cemetery. It was a wall of roses. "Oh intrigue," he said sarcastically. Funny, he had never noticed it before. Perhaps because as a child every time he would get into the graveyard his mother would order him out. It was not as if he spent so much time at home. From the time he had been old enough he had been sent to some school or another, only spending brief periods at Kavanaugh Manor. 14

He returned to the bed, his mind still on the wall of roses. White roses, in the back of his mind something told him of red roses. 15

216

Augustin awoke with a jolt and sat up quickly surveying the room. Everything seemed in place and daylight streamed through the window. "Damned dream," he spat as he glanced at the clock. "11:30!" He hurried to take a shower and get dressed. As he stood brushing his teeth, he heard a servant enter the room. He shoved the door open violently, still dressed in only a towel. "Were you not given instructions to awaken me early?" he seethed. The servant shook her head. Augustin forced himself to calm down; berating the servants as mother did would not help the situation. "You are dismissed. Obviously I can handle dressing myself." The young woman nodded and almost fled the room. 17

He dressed quickly then moved to the window. The house was strangely silent and now he knew why. People stood about in the small cemetery as the priest...it looked like he was conducting the funeral. "Ah Mother, you will pay for this." He started downstairs wondering exactly why she would lie to him about the service time. He stood off from the rest, scarcely able to hear the ceremony. He did not wish to interrupt though he was becoming more curious as to why his mother would lie to him. 18

After the service, he approached his mother, not oblivious to the stares given him by those attending the funeral. "Mother," he said, as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Why did you lie to me?" 19

She pulled her arm away roughly. "I did not lie to you. I have no idea what you are going on about. It is most certainly not my fault you decided to stay in bed rather than attend your grandfather's funeral." 20

"Excuse me. I was given a choice? I specifically asked you to have someone come up this morning and awaken me. You could not even do that." Augustin said, his anger threatening to overspill. 21

"I sent Celeste up this morning. The funeral began at noon. I waited until 10 then sent her up. Your father said he knew you had a rough night last night. He heard you moving around in there at dawn. It was his idea to let you sleep through breakfast. Celeste had to leave for a bit this morning but she said you refused to attend." 22

"How convenient, she is gone. Either you are lying or she is. No one came into my bedroom this morning. Mother, I came home specifically for the funeral. Why would I miss it?" 23

"I am sure I do not know, Augustin. If you will excuse me, I have a houseful of guests to attend to." Augustin stepped aside and watched as his mother walked quickly back toward the house. She stopped several times to chat with people milling about. Though she put on the facade of grieving for her father the night before, today she seemed rather cold and uncaring. 24

Augustin's family left him in the cemetery as the casket was lowered into the ground. "Goodbye, grandfather, you were the only one who mattered to me as a child," he whispered. He turned to walk back to the house when the wall of roses caught his attention. They were red! He was certain at dawn this morning they had been white. He touched one of the delicate petals. It was smooth and silken; still there was something...repulsive about them. He stepped away from them and almost tripped over a grave marker. "Damn you..." he looked at the marker so he could name the one he was now cursing. He drew closer as the name captivated him. 25

It was the elusive Augustin Kavanaugh. "So there you are. About time we met, don't you think?" Augustin's ecstasy at finding the elusive grave was short lived. "The date," he said softly as the icy finger of dread ran along his spine. He ran his fingers over the dates as if reassuring himself it was true. 26

The marker read Augustin Kavanaugh January 24, 1975 to July 3, 1981 Beloved son of Samuel and Julia Kavanaugh. Augustin's breath came in short hitches. Samuel and Julia were his parents; July 3rd was exactly ten months to the day before he was born. Something was amiss. His parents had lied to him. This Augustin Kavanaugh was also their son. Why would they give both their sons the same name? He walked slowly toward the house trying to give some reason to his predicament. 27

His mother surrounded herself with family members, keeping herself from Augustin continuously. Augustin's father kept himself upstairs clear of the family. Julia's family was just like her, snobbish and domineering. Samuel was the extreme opposite. Augustin mounted the stairs, sick of the stares from Julia's family. He heard parts of whispered conversations that only increased his curiosity about the other Augustin Kavanaugh. 28

He found his father in his bedroom reading a novel. "Father, I think it is time we had a talk about that photograph in the foyer." His father laid his novel aside. 29

"What exactly would you like to know? The truth, I suppose. I know you went to the grave after everyone left. Finally found it, did you?" His father asked. 30

"How do you know I found it? Why is their so much secrecy around it? That means he is my brother instead of my cousin. So what if you named us the same? I would think it in honor of him. Yet, you lied to me. This makes me very suspicious of you both." 31

"I knew because you were left alone in the cemetery. Naturally, you would be curious. You have been looking at that photograph since you first noticed the resemblance. I knew this day would come. I am not entirely sure I can explain though." 32

"Try, I do not like the idea of knowing you have been lying to me all these years," Augustin sneered. His father looked at the novel he had laid aside as if hoping for some easy answers. 33

"Augustin, your namesake was born in January of 1975. Julia and I were so proud of our boy. He was bright and precocious with a flare for art and an affinity with nature. In June of 1981, he became gravely ill. In July, he died late one evening as your mother and I begged for his life. 34

The day of his funeral, a man came to us and said he could help. He worked for the coroner's office and had done an autopsy on your brother. He said he could give him back to us. He had kept a drought of your brother's blood and from it..." 35

Augustin backed away in horror. His intestines twisted in a knot as realization sank in. "How could you? He is not my brother; we are one in the same." 36

"No, his body still lies out there," Samuel said as he moved toward the window and pointed at the graveyard. "You are..." Samuel paused searching carefully for the right words. "You are his, clone, I suppose you would say. The man from the coroner's office had some very strange ideas and I will readily admit I did not understand all he said. Your mother seemed to and agreed willingly. 37

Within a month, she had planted that wall of white roses and days later, she was pregnant with you. I can only speculate that the two things were related. You were born nine months later. Without any consultation with me, she named you Augustin. She swore you were not a second child but our Augustin restored to us. I found this incredulous but nevertheless allow her to wallow in her madness." Samuel turned away. "Later I had to admit she was right. As you grew you became the child you once were," he said softly. 38

Augustin fled the room. His father was lying. He had to be. The roses were red. He had looked upon their crimson petals just minutes before entering the house. He stood in the foyer looking at the photograph. "Give up your secret to me. If we are one in the same I should remember." 39

The voice came to him. It was soft and vague, yet sounded very much like his own. "For every indiscretion there is a price. For your mother the price may have been too steep this time." Augustin stepped away from the photo and looked wildly about the foyer. There was no one. Imagination, he thought to himself. He heard his mother laugh in the next room. 40

Entering the room cautiously he saw her with his Uncle Avery. Avery was an incredibly fat balding man. Augustin thought he always smelled of alcohol and cheap cigars. His mother stopped laughing when she caught sight of him. Augustin was relieved; her laughter was not as he remembered it. Her laugh had always been jovial and cheerful, despite her sullen demeanor. When she found something, genuinely humorous she really let loose. Now though, her laughter sounded strange, haunted, and mad. The words he had heard in the foyer drifted back to him. He had to see the grave and the roses again. 41

He hurried from the house. He ran until he reached the small grave marker. The horrid words burned in his mind. He knelt beside the grave; at the very bottom was a crudely engraved rose. Crudely done, it had not been part of the marker originally. 42

Augustin looked at the roses they were a blushed pink. Not at all the deep red they had been earlier nor the white he thought he saw the night before. He stood studying them carefully. "Augustin, stay away!" he turned as he heard his mother call his name. She sounded afraid, desperate. "Augustin, please, come here!" she cried. 43

Augustin hesitated then slowly began to walk toward her. She smiled and held her arms out to him. Without warning, she sprinted toward him and almost tackled him as she embraced him. "You must stay away from the roses. They were planted to restore you to me. Every so often they must be fed." 44

"Fed? What are you implying? Be straight with me. Just this once, tell me the truth," Augustin demanded. His mother looked over the wall of roses, then at the grave. She allowed a despairing sigh to escape her darkly rouged lips. 45

"Alright, I will tell you." She paused, searching for a place to begin. "When Augustin died I thought I would die too. My baby died of pneumonia and that was my fault. His room was always so dreary and damp. He caught a cold, a cold that turned lethal. Everyone tried to convince me it was not my fault but I knew differently. I knew I killed him. 46

The day of the funeral, the coroner came to me. He knew secrets of life and death. He had retained blood so that he could restore this child. A child lost to the world far too soon. He had kept a vial of blood. He told me he knew how to use it to restore my son. I cannot say for certain what this process was, I do not know. I know he brought to me an elixir and bade me drink. I did so gladly. Then...I would rather not say...I was impregnated in a way not natural. You were born healthy and strong nine months later. 47

You looked exactly as you had the first time. You behaved exactly the same. This time though you developed much more quickly: before I knew it you were again the Augustin I knew and loved so well." She paused and took a few steps toward the wall of roses. "You know there was a price? For everything has a price. Even the most trivial things. The price I had to give was blood. Blood for blood the coroner said. Your blood for the blood of all others I hold dear. Only days ago it was my father. He came out here while I was out and got too close to those vile roses. When I came home, I found his belongings and knew he was on the grounds. 48

I searched for him half an hour before I thought to come here. He was there." She pointed to the wall. "His warm body was still wedged amongst them. The accursed thorns held him upright as they drank away his blood, and his life." She turned to Augustin, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "You were ill recently weren't you?" 49

Augustin nodded. Only a few days before he had been taken to the infirmary at the college. He lingered there gravely ill for hours. A doctor, concerned for his life, had called an ambulance. Before it arrived Augustin had, his doctor deemed it a miracle, recovered completely. Although just moments before he had seemed at death's door. 50

He had been released and sent back to his dorm room. The only side effect had been a relentless exhaustion. The next morning the college dean and several other men had burst into his room fearing the worst. His mother had called them, unable to reach him, concerned that he would not answer his phone. They had been informed of his previous condition and naturally thought he had a relapse. They told him of his grandfather's death and helped him pack a few belongings. The dean had personally driven him to the airport and put him on a plane. He had not mentioned any of this to his mother. He thought it unnecessary to worry her in light of her father's death. 51

"That was the roses. When their hunger becomes too great, they will start to take the life from you unless someone I care for dies. Your Uncle Avery will be next, then your father and I. That is all the family left I still care for." 52

"No!" Augustin shouted. A new mixture of madness compelled him, one formed from disbelief, fear, and outrage. "We will destroy the wall. If we destroy them they have no control over you." 53

"No, Augustin, please don't," his mother begged. "If you destroy them, you will die with them. Your very soul is intertwined with them. There is no escape for you. I believe once your father and I have gone you will have to sacrifice all whom you love. This I pray is not true. I pray you do not have to live with the guilt I live with." 54

"Then why do you mother?" Augustin asked abruptly. His patience was growing very thin. "Why would you make such a bargain? Did you not think of the consequences? You loved your father dearly any fool could see that. Yet you placed him in such a precarious position without his knowledge! Grandmother? Was she a victim of the roses as well? Did they drain her blood and savor her horror? The terror she must have felt being consumed by a seemingly innocent, yet deadly, beautiful plant!" 55

Julia shook her head, as if denying Augustin's accusations. "Yes, she succumbed to them as well. As did my sister, Claire, and cousins, Marjory and Tina. Everyone I cared for. All of them. But I did it for you...for my son. I could not bear to think of you in the cold ground forever." 56

"Mother, listen to yourself! That child is still within the ground, is he not? You changed nothing. It has to be a coincidence I look and act as him. We are brothers, it is natural we could look and act very much the same." 57

"No, Augustin, you are him," she disagreed. She looked longingly at the roses. "Vile, hateful things!" she spat. She turned back to the house and hurried to meet Avery, who was lumbering toward them. 58

Augustin stared at the roses. "So you hold the secrets of life and death? We shall see how deep your secrets really are." Augustin removed his shirt and took a lighter from his pants pocket. He picked up a dead branch and wound the shirt around it. "Now..." he retrieved a can of gasoline from his father's work shed and soaked his shirt in it. He returned to the wall and doused the roses with the remaining gas. Immediately they turned a bleached white. His vision faltered as an incredible weakness swept through him. 59

He lit his shirt and held his makeshift torch to the wall. The roses caught immediately. Augustin laughed insanely as he heard the screams coming from them. His own world slipped as pain enveloped his body. Augustin collapsed to his knees. This was not so funny anymore. He began to scream with fierce agony. 60

Julia ran toward the cemetery alarmed by Augustin's screams. She arrived just in time to see him, submerged in flames, collapse to the ground and fall silent. Frightened, she forced herself to look at the roses. The entire wall was engorged in flames. A scream of soul wrenching pain ripped from her throat, echoing throughout Kavanaugh Manor. Samuel, still upstairs, looked out the window. He saw his wife collapse beside the burnt body of their only son and knew she had been the last victim of the roses. A faint smile crossed his lips. 61

He picked up the phone. "Yes, I require an ambulance at Kavanaugh Manor. My wife just killed our son then collapsed. Hurry please," he tried to sound upset, but it was hard. He had never wanted children, but Julia had dreamt of nothing else. He had given her a child then regretted his decision. He took action and got rid of that brat. To his chagrin, she brought it back. 62

Now he was gone again, and there was no one to bring him back. Julia had sacrificed all their lives to bring him back. The sacrifice was not immediate, but Samuel was no fool. He knew Avery would die next then he would follow. He stood near the window watching as Avery and the others hurried to Julia and Augustin's side.63

Now he had it all, a fortune and all the amenities. His life returned to him, and best of all; the peace and quiet he had sought so long.64